


The Clothes Hit the Market

by AnthemsReturn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, meant to show how society is fucked up, metaphor for society, the fashion industry kills, warning for starving models
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 10:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21298121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnthemsReturn/pseuds/AnthemsReturn
Summary: The fashion show was about to begin, and its trends would spread throughout society once the clothes hit the market. Hopefully, they won't.





	The Clothes Hit the Market

The models were preparing for their outfits to take center stage. Several of them huddled together, ready to walk the runway, while others were still dressing or being covered in enough makeup so as to erase any pretense that they had a single flaw. Every one of them was nearly equal in proportions, in height, weight distribution and muscle mass, for the sole purpose of distinguishing them as indistinguishable from one another and ensuring they could all take one another's place. After all, they aren't what's important here. It's the clothing they portray that everyone cares about. 

A few of the models had been wearing outfits being fawned over and fluffed so the project would be a success. A ruddy brunette with hair swept into a high bun was swathed in a flattering rouge ballgown with a garish yellow bow that the designer quickly took notice of, deeming it not the look he was trying to convey and unpinning it hastily. Yet another pinned on her a small rose-shaped hair accessory to match the shade of her pale pink shoes, and both ignored how her ribcage jutted out the fabric of the dress. 

A model with warm brown skin and beaten-into-submission heat-straightened hair was clad in a pale blue waistcoat with a matching skirt and lavender heels, her poppy-red dress shirt clinging to her nearly skeletal frame and still managing to appear too small. She smiled in a way that spoke of smiling countless times with no cheer behind it and the white of her teeth was brighter than that of her eyes. She had her eyes trained on another model, stealing glances when no one was looking and a hint of genuine emotion appearing on her face only for the designers to demand that she school her expression. 

The model she was eyeing was albino, her hair, skin, and eyes belonging to winter's embrace; the designer's claimed it gave her intrigue, the reason she's valuable to them as a model, and that it didn't merely prevent her from basking in the summer sun. Long pale hair was swept into a thin low ponytail laid over the shoulder of her ink-bottle dress that swooped low to show off her clavicles and gathered together at her waist where most would only be able to fit a thigh, the hem reaching down to her ankles and slit up the side to show off long legs not proportionate to their thickness. Little did the other model know, she was being eyed right back. Little did either know, the designers saw and decided this would be the two's last show. 

* * *

They never get to choose the clothes they're made to wear. The clothes were chosen for them, applied to them, and they portray them. Without the clothes, the models were unimportant, worthless, and without purpose to the event. All the models at the event were starving. They all needed to fit the clothes. The clothes became smaller. The models were forced to adapt. The audience loved the clothes. The audience didn't see the models. The next step? The clothes hit the market. 


End file.
